


out of the silence, an echo

by deplore



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: Spoilers for EP43. The Tower of Hanoi falls, and Revolver's world becomes silent.“Back then,” Yusaku says suddenly, finally breaking the stalemate between them, “you told me to think of three things.”“That’s right,” Revolver replies slowly.“Three things to live,” Yusaku recites, closing his eyes – his expression is serene – it is as if he is in prayer. “Three things to go home. Three things to defeat the enemy. By thinking, you can still live.” He opens his eyes again after his recitation, turning to glance at Revolver for a moment before gazing out at the ocean again. “That’s what you told me.”The truth is, Revolver remembers the exact words as well as Yusaku does. He had thought about to say carefully, well aware that he might only have one chance to talk to any of those six children while nobody was watching him – it had to be something that would help. And afterwards, he had agonized to himself over whether he had chosen the right words to convey what he wanted to express.But he can’t let himself admit that out loud; his distress was nothing compared to what Yusaku endured.





	out of the silence, an echo

**Author's Note:**

> Written after episode 43. Spoilers for Revolver's real name/backstory. As background to this fic, I am making the bold but hopefully not unjustified assumption here like that Revolver and Yusaku are going to wake up after finishing their final Tower of Hanoi duel and Stardust Road will be lit up.

For Ryoken, the house perched high on Stardust Road has always been a quiet place. The wall-to-wall windows that line the side of the house facing the ocean let in natural light all day, but they also dull away the sound of the waves entirely. Thus, the house is always silent except for the steady humming and beeping of his father’s medical equipment on the main floor – while Ryoken knows logically that the outside world is chaotic and noisy, he doesn’t hear any of it in reflected in his immediate reality except for when he leaves the house or logs into a public area of Link VRAINS.

He coexists in tentative peace with the quiet for years, neither soothed nor bothered by it; he’s always had other things to occupy his mind and distract him from the outer silence with his inner disharmony. When he was younger, he kept himself busy by endlessly dumping knowledge into his mind, somehow convinced with childlike logic that perhaps his father would return when he became smarter, more clever, more _worthy_ – just like in a fairy tale. And when his father returned, he was quickly swept up in plots too big for one person to bear, pushing out all other thoughts and worries to concentrate on goals and ideals – besides, the mechanical whirs of the life support system served well enough for ambient noise, a constant reassurance that he still had time, that the end was not yet nigh.

The day after he takes care of his father’s cremation, though, Ryoken wakes up with the rising sun as usual and almost immediately begins to feel an incredible sense of discomfort. He pulls himself up out of bed, not entirely sure how he even got into it the night before, and walks over to the open window facing the ocean. There, he can see waves crashing onto the rocky shore, water churning, and seabirds dotting the nearby viewing area: despite the fact that Ryoken’s inner world has suddenly reversed poles and is spinning out of control, the outside world has continued on steadfast.

He sighs deeply, and only when he hears the sound of his own exhalation does he realize what feels wrong: “It’s so quiet,” he says, and places his palm flat to the window. The glass is cool and unyielding against his skin, and he can faintly see his reflection against the outside scenery – but it is merely overlayed with no real, tangible connection.

For the first time in his life, the silence feels terrible.

 

 

 

 

He could go outside, but he doesn’t. There isn’t anywhere for him to go; he’d only be wandering aimlessly with neither purpose nor desire, and that would feel wrong in a different way than the stifling quiet of a house that he has come to realize that he’s never once called his home.

Instead, he breaks himself down from a human being into a mere machine of habit, going through the same motions as he always does – he changes his clothes and brushes his teeth, then makes a simple breakfast and doesn’t taste a single bit of it as he eats. After that, he turns on his desktop and connects to the server in the basement, running the usual scripts that he’d written years ago to detect any potential day-zero security breaches in Link VRAINS that may have opened up during the nightly network refresh. The program log is the shortest it’s ever been – even without looking at the outputs, Ryoken can tell that network functionality still hasn’t been fully restored after the damage that the Tower of Hanoi did to it.

Then he secludes himself into the private room he uses to log into Link VRAINS, sitting down and putting the virtual reality-enhancing visor over his face. He relaxes his muscles, closing his eyes – but of course, nothing happens when he tries to log in. So he lays there, and he lays there, and as he lays there, his mind darts back and forth between useless mental exercises so that he doesn’t have to think consciously about anything that truly matters. He counts backwards from one-thousand by sevens. He goes through each element on the periodic table, reviewing their abbreviations. He quizzes himself on the indexing conventions of all the programming languages he’s learned, and so on and so forth, in the same way he used to review his daily lessons while lying in bed every night as a child.

Time passes. Ryoken feels the warmth of the sun intensify over his clothes and skin for a while, and then slowly weaken. All the while, everything around him is quiet – so noiseless – engulfing him – unnatural silence – his heart, too, feels empty –

 

 

 

 

And then he hears the front door opens from the main room.

Ryoken doesn’t startle from the sudden intrusion, but it does pull him back into the physical world. He takes the visor off and stands up just as his visitor opens the inner door to where Ryoken has been all day.

“I didn’t mention this before,” Yusaku says without greeting as he walks in, holding a paper bag with Café Nagi’s logo on it, “but your house’s security system is surprisingly weak.”

“The house is rather out of the way, so I’ve never been concerned about potential break-ins,” Ryoken automatically replies.

For a few moments, they stare at each other. It occurs to Ryoken that Yusaku looks visibly uncomfortable, like he’s not sure what he’s doing – and then awkwardly, Yusaku shoves the paper bag into Ryoken’s chest. “Eat dinner,” Yusaku tells him.

After a pause, Ryoken opens up the paper bag and takes a look inside. “It’s not a hot dog,” he comments, not sure what else to say. In fact, he doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t want to say so.

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood,” Yusaku replies, sounding faintly miffed. “Just take it out already.”

So Ryoken does. The mystery food is wrapped in aluminum foil; he tears off a strip and unwinds it to reveal a grilled sweet potato. He hesitates for a moment, and then takes a bite – he barely registers anything about it except that it’s warm, but he takes another bite anyway. This time he can feel the fluffy, soft texture of the sweet potato in his mouth, and on his third bite, he can actually taste the sweetness of it on his tongue. He swallows, and the flavor lingers in his mouth pleasantly. “Thanks,” he says, not sure what else he should respond with.

“Don’t mention it,” Yusaku says, looking down briefly as he visibly shifts his weight from one leg to the other. After that pause, he continues, “I wasn’t doing it to be nice, anyway. It’s just a pretext to come talk to you.”

“I can appreciate that kind of honesty,” Ryoken replies. “… So, then, what do you want to talk about?”

Yusaku creases his eyebrows, frowning for a few moments. “Finish eating first,” he says. “I’ll wait outside, I feel like taking a walk.”

With that, Yusaku leaves as unceremoniously as he entered.

 

 

 

 

Ryoken understands, of course, that when Yusaku says _I feel like taking a walk_ , the implication is that Ryoken will be going on the same walk. He steadily eats his way through the sweet potato, crumpling the aluminum foil up and throwing it away before he also leaves the house. A few paces from the front door, Yusaku sits crouched on the ground, head propped up on his right hand and elbow on his knees, staring out at the ocean. The sun is setting – it’s only been a few days since they first confronted each other face-to-face, but it already feels like that was in a different life.

When he approaches, Yusaku turns his head up, only getting up once he’s confirmed that it’s Ryoken despite the fact that there’s nobody else that it _could_ be. He walks down the stairs and Ryoken follows him all the way down to the public viewing area; Yusaku approaches the guard rail and leans against it, facing the horizon. Cautiously, Ryoken follows suit, keeping a careful distance between them.

“Back then,” Yusaku says suddenly, finally breaking the stalemate between them, “you told me to think of three things.”

“That’s right,” Ryoken replies slowly.

“ _Three things to live_ ,” Yusaku recites, closing his eyes – his expression is serene – it is as if he is in prayer. “ _Three things to go home. Three things to defeat the enemy. By thinking, you can still live_.” He opens his eyes again after his recitation, turning to glance at Ryoken for a moment before gazing out at the ocean again. “That’s what you told me.”

The truth is, Ryoken remembers the exact words as well as Yusaku does. He had thought about to say carefully, well aware that he might only have one chance to talk to any of those six children while nobody was watching either him or the monitors – whatever he said  _had_ to be something that would help. And afterwards, he had agonized to himself over whether he had chosen the right words to convey what he wanted to express.

But he can’t let himself admit that out loud; his distress was nothing compared to what Yusaku endured. Instead, he again says, “That’s right.”

“Those words are what let me survive without breaking,” Yusaku tells him. “Although I didn’t understand them fully until afterwards. You know, at that time, I was in physical pain, but what really hurt me is… I felt hopeless. I thought I had been completely abandoned. I couldn’t comprehend why it was happening.”

“To you, it was senseless suffering,” Ryoken says as Yusaku trails off. His voice settles into the steady cadence he uses when he goes by the name Revolver; it makes him feel a little firmer, like he might be able to regain real confidence by acting confident for long enough. “You couldn’t identify a purpose for why you were being hurt. When a person has a strong sense of purpose, they can continue living in spite of any hardship comes their way… if they can attribute their anguish to some sort of higher cause, then the pain becomes easier to shoulder.”

“But I couldn’t do that,” Yusaku says.

Ryoken tilts his head in Yusaku’s direction slightly. “No, of course you couldn’t,” he replies. “No adult would have rationally guessed what the real purpose behind the Lost Incident was, let alone a child.”

“And you knew that,” Yusaku continues. “You were also a child, and you didn’t fully understand what was happening either. That’s why you told me to think of three things, isn’t it? You wanted me to seek my own reasons to endure, hoping it’d give me the strength… though I guess you didn’t expect me to go this far with my reasons.”

“If that’s what you think, I’ll let you have your assumptions,” Ryoken says, after a pause.

“No, I know it,” Yusaku replies emphatically. “I _know_ it, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Surely you didn’t come all the way here to ask me questions that you think you already know the answers to,” Ryoken retorts.

“Your inability to deny it directly is telling,” Yusaku says. “But yeah, that’s not what I came here to ask you.”

Ryoken raises an eyebrow and says, “Then ask.”

“Revolver,” Yusaku says, turning to stare Ryoken eye-to-eye – “No, not Revolver. I’m asking this to you, Kogami Ryoken. What are your three things? Three reasons to live, or three goals to achieve… three reasons to not give up. I want to hear them from you.”

 

 

 

 

The sound of waves against the shore rings in Ryoken’s ears; they’ve been talking with their voices raised so they can be heard over the tide. The ocean is more powerful than any human – for that matter, the ocean is even more powerful than any network that humans or A.I. could hope to craft. Ryoken remembers reading about different ways that scientists have predicted the world will end after his father told him that the Ignis would someday cause humanity to be its own undoing – in many of them, the ocean plays a central role. The water rises as humans carelessly live off the bounty of the earth, forcing more and more people into smaller and smaller places, Mother Nature returning her wrath upon her ungrateful children. Future-state catastrophes like that weigh upon his mind too heavily for somebody who should be in the most hopeful days of his youth.

But even if it’s overwhelming, at the very least, Ryoken can finally hear the undercurrent pulsing through the water – he hears the waves, and he hears the seabirds cry. He can hear the wind, and he hears Yusaku speak above all of that noise, his voice soaring above all else with unshaken resolve – _Think of three things. Three things to live. Three goals to achieve. Three reasons to not give up_ – suddenly Ryoken remembers that the world isn’t silent, nor is it meant to be silent, because he’s not alone in it.

 

 

 

 

“My three reasons to live,” Ryoken says. “One. I want to make sure the future my father foretold never comes to pass.”

The sun has almost set completely, and the streetlights are beginning to illuminate the street. Still, neither of them break eye contact even as the sky fades into a deep shade of cobalt blue.

“Two,” Ryoken continues. “I feel… I should atone somehow. You made me realize Link VRAINS is worth protecting, so perhaps that’s how I’ll do it.”

The ocean is as dark as ever – that beautiful, glowing path won’t open up tonight, but Ryoken doesn’t feel sad about it. Instead, he wonders with almost childish nervousness, if he should admit his last reason or if it isn’t worthy enough. But Yusaku’s gaze is steadfast; it doesn’t have the weight of judgment, only the promise of absolution.

“Three. I want to see it again… the Stardust Road,” Ryoken finally says, and after he’s finished listing his reasons, he feels slightly lighter than he did just seconds before.

Yusaku makes a contemplative noise and then replies, “I see… So those are your reasons.”

“For whatever they’re worth,” Ryoken says.

“What they’re worth is something you’re supposed to decide for yourself, isn’t it?” Yusaku asks. But without giving Ryoken any time to respond, he continues, “I’d like to see the Stardust Road light up again too, actually.”

“It didn’t happen tonight, but… it always does open up again, eventually,” Ryoken replies slowly.

“It’s a beautiful sight,” Yusaku says.

Despite himself, Ryoken smiles slightly when he replies, “Yes… no matter how many times I see it, it always seems even more beautiful than the last.”

Neither of them have been looking at the ocean for quite some time.

 

 

 

 

Kusanagi Shoichi shows up not long after to give Yusaku a ride back into the city, but instead of returning to his house right away, Ryoken sits on one of the benches in the public viewing area for a while longer. Now that the sun has fully set, the breeze is crisp, but he isn’t cold or uncomfortable – such small things don’t bother him. Before long, he’ll go back to that quiet house, but for a few moments longer, Kogami Ryoken loosens his grip on his past self and tries simply to exist, to feel, to hear to what his heart tells him. That way, when he finally goes back to his house, he knows – he can remain at ease in the silence once again. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's a tidbit](https://japanese-school-asahi.com/this-moon-is-beautiful/) that heavily informed some of the later dialogue choices I made. I didn't want to directly go for the trope (lol) but I was hoping to preserve that sort of atmosphere of saying one thing to indirectly imply something deeper, hopefully it was conveyed properly.


End file.
